Behold, the Bridegroom

As I arrived at the Motherhouse, one of the first things I noticed was the beautiful graveyard. Just that combination of words—beautiful graveyard—feels like an oxymoron. But not at a convent. 

As I walked into the beautiful 19th century building, I was struck by the beauty of the place, the joy of the sisters, and the simplicity of their life. On this particular day though, I was most pierced by their witness to the reality of eternity. As the Sisters showed me around, one of them excitedly whispered that I was here at an incredible time: a Sister had just died. 

There was a sort of solemn joy to her voice. These aren’t women who grieve without hope; they grieve with a profound reverence for the dignity of this woman’s life and a striking knowledge that this isn’t the end of the story. For the Sisters, it was beautifully evident that death was the beginning of the wedding feast with their Divine Bridegroom. 

As I listened to the Sisters chant ancient prayers of the dead and we walked to the grave amidst stinging wind and rain on an unusually cold day, I found my own heart deeply moved by their beautiful testimony to divine life. The Sisters taught me about their traditions and told me of the vigil that was held for this beautiful religious woman from the moment that they knew death was near. She was never alone—the Sisters were by her side until dirt began to cover her casket. 

Witnessing the depth of the Sisters’ belief in the Resurrection, so much so that joy surrounded a funeral, deepened my own longing for eternity. These women remind me who I am—a bride longing to be united with the long-awaited Bridegroom.